


Pancakes

by SofyTrancy



Category: Bravely Default (Video Game) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angelo is a bit tsundere, Bravely Secret Santa 2020, F/M, Fluff, Pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28361652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SofyTrancy/pseuds/SofyTrancy
Summary: Aimee wanted to cook pancakes for Angelo. She didn't take into account the fact that she is a terrible cook.
Relationships: Aimee Matchlock/Angelo OVO Panettone
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas Bread, I'm your Secret Santa!!  
> I wrote about Aimee and Angelo and I hope you'll like this short story even if the part where Aimee is really having fun is only at the end.
> 
> PS: English is not my native language so if there are some errors please let me know!

“ _What a disaster...”_

No, “disaster” wasn't exactly the right word to describe what Aimee had in front of her in that moment.

“Cataclysm” was better; way better.

Angelo's kitchen: the sacred place where nobody except him was allowed to enter, the room that was the cleanest and the tidiest in the entire world, the location where anything had never been in the wrong place...

...was now completely upside down.

Nothing was where it was supposed to.

The kitchen whisks (Angelo had a different one for every kind of cake he wanted to make) were scattered on the floor.

Plastic plates and bowls were everywhere across the room.

And what about the pastry dough that Aimee had tried to make?

Oh, please, let’s not talk about that.

The dough was literally EVERYWHERE.

It was on the chairs; it was on the table; it was on the shelfs; it was on the floor.

Even if the girl couldn’t explain how it ended up there, that stupid dough was even on the walls.

She cursed herself for the idea that she had the night before and that, now, was the main reason for that mess: cooking pancakes for Angelo.

She didn’t even know why that thought entered in her mind.

She loved when Angelo cooked pancake for her, every Sunday.

Sometimes, she pretended to be still asleep (even if she had woke up hours before) to wait for those pancakes for breakfast.

And so, for once, she wanted to be the one to cook those pancakes instead.

But now...

“ _Darlin’ will kill me, won’t him?”_

...now that she was thinking about it, Aimee should have already realized that idea wasn’t one of the best she could have.

Waking up earlier? Sneaking into Angelo's kitchen? Using his kitchen tools? Trying not to get caught?

Everything about that plan was screaming “DANGER!”.

“ _Calm down Aimee, will ya?”_

The sniper sighed.

There was no time to panic.

It was worthless to cry over the spill milk (and, considering how much milk she had really spilled, her tears wouldn’t had been enough anyway).

She had to think about a solution.

If Angelo had opened the door in that moment, she wouldn’t have gotten away with a simple scolding.

But…

Aimee lowered her gaze, looking at her right hand.

… but now she had also others problems that she had to think about.

There, on the palm of her hand, there was a deep cut.

And it hurt. It hurt a lot.

And she didn’t know how to treat it.

If someone asked her how she injured herself like that, she wouldn’t know the answer.

Aimee was reckless, but not an idiot.

She knew that her capacity in kitchen was under zero and, for this reason, she had eliminated all the dangerous tools beforehand.

Knifes, scissors, glass bottles…

She had also avoided all the glasses and the normal plates and, instead, she had used plastic bowls because she didn’t want to break them and hurt herself.

But, apparently, she had forgotten to dispose off the most dangerous weapon, the one she had thought was an ally and not an enemy: Angelo’s recipes book.

The girl casted a hateful look at the book that was open on the floor, the recipe for the pancake still visible under the blood splatters on the pages.

“I knew that paper can cut ya, but I didn’t think that it could have been this bad...”

And to add insult to injury, that book was the only thing that she couldn’t put back together.

Angelo would have really killed h–

«Who entered in my kitche–?!»

Before Aimee could finish her thought, the door of the kitchen opened, making her shiver.

Slowly, praying every god she knew in the world, the girl turned around.

«Darlin’…?»

Angelo didn’t answer.

He was there, still.

His (beautiful) golden eyes were fixed on the vision in front of him.

His (handsome) face showed a shocked expression.

His (perfect) mouth was still opened, but the words that he wanted to say didn’t come out.

«D-Darlin’...?»

Again, the patissier didn’t say anything.

He only entered the room, looking around him with a look of strong shock in his eyes.

Not that Aimee couldn’t understand him.

If someone had done something similar to her shooting room, she would have been in that condition too.

«Darlin’, listen to me.– she tried to say with a trembling voice –I-I didn’t want to do this mess, I only wanted to–»

«Aimee.»

The girl shivered.

The tone of Angelo’s voice was flat and lower than usual.

He was angry.

He was REALLY angry.

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see his face, she could understand it either way.

«Y-Yes…?»

Slowly, Angelo turned around and their eyes met and, before Aimee could realize it, her body was already in Default mode.

The patissier approached her and she could see the murderous intent in his gaze.

“ _I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die!!”_

...But, something unexpected escaped from his lips.

«What happened to your hand?»

«What…?»

Aimee totally didn’t expect that question to be asked by the patissier in that moment.

Before she could give a proper answer, Angelo took her hand in his, looking at the cut in her palm.

When the fingers of the man touched her wound, Aimee held back a wail of pain.

«This cut is deep, we must treat it.» the patissier said, without changing the flat tone of his voice but showing a new kind of emotion on his face; an emotion that the girl hadn’t seen before.

Maybe… maybe that wasn’t anger?

Could it be that he was…

“ _...worry about me?”_

Angelo kneeled and put the first aid kit, that he had took from one of the shelfs, on the floor next to him.

«You’re stupid.» he grumbled, taking out the disinfectant from the kit.

Aimee didn’t answered, asking herself which of the numerous disasters she had done in less than an hour Angelo was talking about. Probably about all of them.

A wail of pain escaped from her lips when he touched the wound and Angelo looked up, gazing at her with his glacial look.

«Don’t move.» he ordered, serious.

Even if his tone was as grumpy as always, Aimee couldn’t help but notice how kind and delicate his touch was.

«I’m sorry...» she whispered, without knowing what else to say.

Angelo bit his lower lip, like if he was thinking about how to reply.

Then, he spoke.

«You must be careful. Your hands are important. If you are wounded, it would be difficult to shoot.»

Oh…

So that was why he was worried about her.

«Don’t worry, Darlin’.– Aimee said, trying to hide her disappointment –I can shoot even if my hands are injured, I’m strong.»

For the umpteenth time since Angelo had entered in the room, the patissier glared at her.

Then, without notice, he flicked her on the forehead.

«Ouch...» Aimee moaned, touching the point where the boy had hit.

«I don’t have time to worry about you during battle, Aimee. So, please, be more careful. I don’t want you to be in more danger than needed.»

His voice tone was the same as before, but the girl couldn’t help but notice that, this time, Angelo blushed.

The sniper chuckled, ignoring the murderous look she received immediately after her gesture.

«Thank ya, Darlin’!– she said, smiling –I’m glad ya didn’t get angry.»

At the end, things hadn’t gone too bad.

Angelo didn’t scold her or, at least, he was way more gentle that she had thought.

«...Who said that I’m not angry?»

Aimee’s optimism died on the spot.

«Darlin’…?»

«Oh, I’m angry. I have never been so angry in my entire life, Sugarcake.»

The girl was always happy when Angelo called her with that nickname, but the tone he had used in that moment made her shiver.

«I-I can explain!»

«I hope you really can.– the patissier glared at her again –You have three seconds.»

Panic.

«I-I just wanted to–»

«Two.»

«D-Darlin’! Wait!»

«One.»

«I just wanted to make pancakes for ya!»

Her voice came out way higher than expected.

Angelo raised an eyebrow, clearly confused by that reply.

«Y-Ya always make ‘em for me.– Aimee continued, without catching her breath –I-I love ‘em so much and I’m always so happy when I eat ‘em! I-I just wanted to make ya happy too–»

For the first time since he entered the room, Angelo’s expression softened, even if only for a moment.

That sight caught Aimee off guard and the words died in her throat and, in result, only a strangled sound escaped from her lips.

The patissier remained in silence, like if he was thinking about what to say.

Then, he turned around and started walking.

«D-D-Darlin’…?»

«I’ll teach you if you want it so bad.– he said, and even if Aimee couldn’t see his face she knew he was blushing –But first give me a hand. We have to clean up this mess.»

All the fear that she had felt up until that moment disappeared.

«Thank ya, Darlin’!» she said, ignoring the “And stop calling me Darling” with which Angelo replied to her.

If that was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up.

Aimee was cooking for Angelo.

She was cooking WITH Angelo.

The sniper had never thought that something like that could happen to her.

Not only she could ask him to help her in any moment, but she was also so lucky to watch him at work, to hear his calm voice while he explained everything, to be touched by him when he helped her…

What if that was heaven?

The patissier’s ladle hit “gently” her head and Aimee let a wail of pain escape from her lips.

«Do you even know how to mix a dough?! Stop daydreaming and listen to what I’m saying!»

...okay, maybe it wasn’t heaven.

On the contrary, it was Hell.

But, when Angelo took her hand in his, to show her how to move her wrist, Aimee couldn’t help but think that she couldn’t be more happy.


End file.
